by Maisey Yates
She arched her back, her breasts pressing against his chest as he pushed deeper inside her. Buried himself to the hilt. She kept her eyes locked with his, kept the connection between them. He flexed his hips, retreating slightly before thrusting hard into her, closing his eyes. And she got lost in the rhythm, in the moment, in him. She watched his face as he moved inside her then looked over and saw his forearm, his muscles straining as he held her wrists above her head still, his tattoo rippling and flexing with each movement.
The tattoo. The tattoo she had been dying to touch. And he was holding her hands so she still couldn’t.
She angled her head, parted her lips and traced one of the vines etched there in dark ink with the tip of her tongue. He shivered, a harsh sound escaping his lips.
“Liss,” he said, “you have to be careful.”
“I don’t want to be careful. I want it all.”
Still holding her wrists tight with one hand, he put his other hand beneath her ass and lifted her up, increasing the momentum behind his movements. She arched against him, meeting his every thrust. Pleasure bloomed low, intense, in her stomach. She was not a multiorgasmic girl, at least not usually. But she had a feeling she was going to be tonight.
The back of her hands hit the headboard, the intensity of Connor’s movements pushing them both back against the hard wooden surface, the brass detailing biting into her knuckles, her hair catching beneath one of the edges and tugging a bit. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but the driving need to find her release.
He thrust deep, rolling his hips, and she braced her hand on his chest, felt his heart hammering beneath her touch. She opened her eyes and looked at him, at his expression, his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched tight. Connor. Her Connor. Lost in her.
She looked away, shutting her eyes. Unable to deal with the intensity of looking at him. And he pushed into her one last time. Pleasure exploded behind her eyelids, and she felt as if she was lying down outside on a sunny day again, flashes of light popping through the trees, leaving bright-colored spots in her vision.
He lowered his head, his forehead pressed against hers, his lips just a whisper away. And then his big, muscular frame shook, a deep, low sound reverberating in his chest as he froze, his cock pulsing inside her as he found his own release.
He rolled away from her, lying on his back. She felt cold, freezing, with the warmth of his body removed from hers. But she didn’t know what she should do next. Didn’t know if it was okay for her to hold on to him like he was a lover. If she should talk to him like he was a friend. Because they had agreed on sex, sex to help them get over his hang-ups, and she didn’t think cuddling was included in that kind of therapy. Of course, it wasn’t like there was a handbook.
There should be a handbook. Maybe after this she would write one. How To Have Sex With Your Best Friend Without Losing Your Mind. At least, she hoped that after this she would be qualified to write that book. If not, it would mean she had lost her mind, and possibly her friend.
But no, she wouldn’t think that.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, getting off the bed and walking out of her room, leaving her there by herself.
She debated the wisdom of scrambling to get her clothes on and going after him. But he had said he would be back. The last thing he wanted was her getting all clingy on him. The last thing she wanted was her getting all clingy on him.
But she felt clingy.
She gritted her teeth and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow, fighting back the tears that were starting to build behind her eyelids. This was supposed to be about dealing with Connor lust; this was not supposed to be about feelings.
She didn’t want to have feelings for him. She had done her best to let go of those over the years. He had married one of her best friends. He remained one of her best friends. And those things are far too valuable to mess up.
They still were.
Just when she was starting to think that he was not coming back, he walked back through the door and crossed the room quickly, getting back into bed. She almost sighed with relief when he climbed in beside her.
“I just realized I didn’t ask if I could sleep with you,” he said.
“You can,” she said, her throat tightening, her chest aching.
“I might just stay for a while,” he said.
She nodded wordlessly, knowing that he probably couldn’t see the gesture. He didn’t speak, and neither did she, not for a long time. They didn’t hold each other; they simply lay next to each other, naked, in bed together, an intimacy that they had never shared before.
Finally, she turned over onto her side so that she was facing him. She stared through the thin darkness, broken up by the full moon outside, at his profile, at his arm, which was raised up over his head. At his tattoo. She’d touched it now. A very specific fantasy now fulfilled. She hadn’t just touched it; she’d licked it. Because hellfire and brimstone, that man made her want things that went way past logical. Way past civilized.
But it hadn’t satisfied everything. No, she still wanted more. Needed more.
She imagined that would always be the case.
She lay there for a moment, her heart still thundering hard. And then she decided to go ahead and push. She had never asked him about the tattoo. Because it felt like a bridge too far. But here and now, with all of their skin out in the open, it seemed like maybe some other things could come out in the open, too. “What does your tattoo mean?”
There was nothing but silence for a moment. “It’s a pretty shitty story,” he said, his tone strained.
“Yeah, I had a feeling.”
“And that’s what you want to talk about right now?”
“It’s either that or the weather. Or we talk about how amazing the sex was.”
“I’m okay with talking about how amazing the sex was,” he said.
Her face got hot, and she felt silly. Stupid. Like some inexperienced girl instead of a woman in her thirties. What was it about Connor that made her feel that way? How did a man she knew better than anyone else on earth make things feel so new and scary? It didn’t make sense.
“Was it amazing?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, for you. Obviously, for me it was amazing.”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“I’m asking. So obviously I had to.”
“Yes, it was amazing. But that kind of feels like a stupid thing to say. Like it’s not enough. I don’t know what to say about it.”
“That’s not stupid. It makes me feel good.”
“I think I can do better, though. It’s like...like you woke part of me up again. Like I’m waking up.”
“I’m glad.”
Silence settled between them.
“Jessie really liked her flowers. She always did,” he said, his voice rough.
She swallowed hard, her stomach clamping down tight. It was strange to hear him talk about his wife when they were in bed together. To hear him talk about the friend she never would have betrayed this way, if she’d lived.
“I know she did.” It was all Liss could think to say.
“A few weeks before the accident she went out of town for a few days to visit her parents. She told me to make sure that I watered her roses. I said I would, but then I didn’t think about it again, because it didn’t have anything to do with the ranch, and they weren’t necessary, at least not to my mind. So I went about my business, and when she came back, they were dead. She was furious. She said I never listened when things were important to her. That I didn’t take her seriously. That I didn’t care about her. And none of that was true, but...I was so wrapped up in the ranch. I just didn’t think. It wasn’t just the roses. They were just one thing. One in a long line of mistakes I made that showed I thought a lot more about this place
than I thought about her.”
“That’s not true, Connor,” she said. “You loved her.”
“I did. I do. But sometimes I didn’t show it.” He paused. “I was going to change. I was going to do better. For her. For us. And she died.” He lowered his arm, held it in front of him, tracing the intricate lines in blossoms etched into his skin. “These are Jessie’s roses,” he said, his voice strangled. “I got this because this way, I haven’t let her roses die.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CONNOR HAD NO IDEA how he had gone from the throes of the most intense sexual release of his life to confiding his most intense regret and shame. And all with the same person.
On the bright side, the general confusion was working to defuse the horror, fear and realization that now he had seen his best friend’s tits, he would never be able to unsee them, that he had no doubt would rear their ugly heads soon enough. Like a giant Hydra made of awful and awkward. There was no fighting that thing. Every time he cut off one of the heads, the fact that he had seen Liss naked would grow back ever larger.
You have to get a grip. Because if you don’t, you’re going to fuck up the most meaningful relationship you have.
Which was really par for the course with him. His tattoo was a reminder of that. And now Liss knew it.
So at least she wouldn’t be surprised when he handled all of this less than gracefully. Not that she would’ve been, anyway. They had known each other for too long for her to expect him to start spouting poetry right now.
“I don’t know what to say,” Liss said, her voice muffled.
“I have a knack for killing conversation. Earlier tonight was kind of exhibit A.”
“That was Jack’s fault.”
“No, it wasn’t. I don’t expect everybody to think of my tragic backstory every time they open their mouths around me. Actually, I would prefer if they didn’t, so pulling crap like I did earlier runs counter to my objective.”
“We all have a tendency to be our own worst enemies.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of that.” He had a feeling he had become his own nemesis tonight. And yet he was having a difficult time regretting it.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his ab muscles tightening as Liss placed her fingertips on his forearm, slowly tracing the outline of one of the roses that was inked into his skin. “She knew. She knew how much you loved her.”
“I don’t think she did,” he said. “No, I know she didn’t. Because I didn’t know. Marriage is... It’s long. I didn’t fully appreciate that before I actually got married. But I don’t know that anyone does. And at first it feels hard. The newness wears off, and then you’re just living with this person who’s around all the time. Eventually it gets easier. You settle into a routine. But at some point you settle in so deep you can go for days living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, hardly saying a word to each other. It gets comfortable. That’s one of the beautiful things about marriage. But it’s one of the dangerous things, too.” He took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in his chest. He never talked about this stuff. He didn’t really like thinking about it at all. But they were already talking about his tattoo, so they might as well just have the talk and get it over with.
There wasn’t really anything about tonight that could carry over into tomorrow morning. That made it a safe space. And he was going to take advantage of that.
“It’s weird. I swear to God, Liss, I could go a whole day without thinking very much about her when she lived here. I didn’t feel her presence. I was so damned used to it. But I felt it when she was gone. I had no idea emptiness was so fucking heavy. How can it be when it’s nothing? But it is.”
“That’s life, though, Connor. We take things for granted. Because we can’t always have perspective.”
“Yeah, well, why the hell not? It doesn’t absolve me, just because other people do it, too. Doesn’t fix anything.”
“Neither does guilt.”
“Oh, thanks. I guess I’ll just be done with that, then.”
“Stop it,” she said, her voice faintly chastising, her fingers still moving over his skin. This new intimacy was a strange thing. They had never been into casual touching. And now they were lying next to each other, completely naked. But more notable was the fact that she was just touching his forearm because she could. Because a line that had been drawn between them for years had been suddenly erased. “I’m trying to help.”
“I know.”
“So don’t be such a grumpy bastard.”
He rolled onto his side, and the motion shook her hand from his forearm. He could see her skin clearly thanks to the pale moonlight filtering through the window. Could make out the outline of her nipples, see the dark shadow at the apex of her thighs. And it occurred to him then that he was in bed with his best friend, only the second woman to ever touch his body, only the second woman he’d ever been inside, and he was talking about his wife.
That feeling of being out of time, of being in a safe zone, vanished as a wave of reality washed over him.
With that revelation came the feeling of being something more than naked. As though he hadn’t just removed his clothes, but peeled back his skin, as well, exposing the contents of his chest. As though everything had been dragged out into the open. His guts, and not a whole lot of glory.
He pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Connor?”
“I need to go to bed,” he said, standing.
“You can stay in here.”
No, he couldn’t. That was nonnegotiable. But he didn’t say that; he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even stop to collect his clothes. He just walked toward the bedroom door and wrenched it open, stumbling out into the hall. He paused for a second, hoping that Liss wouldn’t come after him. She didn’t.
Which, he supposed, was the benefit of conducting your ill-advised sexual encounter with someone who knew you so well.
Something in his chest twisted hard and tugged down, just about dropping him to his knees.
This had gone beyond what he felt ready to deal with. At least it had gone past what he felt ready to deal with while sober.
He went down the hall and down the stairs, not caring that he still wasn’t dressed. The only person who was here to see it had already seen it. Because he had gone and made one of the worst decisions he could’ve possibly made.
This was the wrong time to have that revelation. After he’d already done it.
Now that his dick had gone to sleep, his brain was back in action. And his brain knew that he was a dumb ass.
He walked through the living room and into the kitchen, opening up the cupboard and taking out his bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Then he opened up the cupboard next to it and took out a glass.
He bent down, bracing himself on the counter, one hand in front of the glass, the other in front of the bottle, as he stared at both. His heart was hammering hard, his stomach so tight he could barely breathe.
He didn’t feel as though he’d betrayed Jessie. Because she was dead, and he wasn’t stupid. That was when your marriage vows ended, after all. But he did feel as if he betrayed Liss.
More than that, he felt as if he’d jumped into the river with both feet without bothering to learn to swim first.
His chest was crowded with emotions. Worry slithering around in his brain like a pissed-off rattlesnake. And much like dealing with a rattlesnake, reaching in to try to manage that mess would probably be fatal.
He straightened and took the cap off the bottle.
He knew this wouldn’t solve his problems. It never did. It gave him oblivion, and the next day gave him a headache, but it didn’t solve his problems. Not permanently. All it did was provide a nice little window of time where he could forget he had any.
&nbs
p; He wrapped his fingers around the bottle, squeezed it tight. Then he picked it up and poured a generous amount into the glass, putting it back down and screwing the lid back on, shoving it back against the wall.
If he didn’t drink, then everything would just keep growing. The feelings in his chest would just keep expanding until he exploded, his thoughts turning around until they drove him nuts.
And who was he going to talk to about it? Eli? Certainly not Liss. Not now. Not now that she was a part of the torrential wave of crap he was dealing with.
It isn’t like you ever talk to her about it, anyway.
He ignored his voice of reason and picked up the glass, raising it to his lips. He tipped it back, the amber liquid touching his lips, the promise of sleep and peace so close he could taste it. And it tasted like damn good whiskey.
Completely without his permission, an image of Liss’s face swam in front of his vision. And in that image she was looking at him with wide, sad eyes.
“Well, this is your fault, anyway,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear him.
Unsurprisingly, she didn’t answer him. But he could still see her in his mind. Those big golden eyes begging him not to drink anymore...for her.
And then with a growl, he slammed the glass back down on the counter. He braced his palms flat on the granite, leaning forward, lowering his head. Yeah, the last thing he needed was Liss finding him hungover in the morning and blaming herself. Because she would. Because she was like that.
But the alternative was spending the night sober.
Considering he had just screwed his best friend and abandoned her, naked and in bed, he imagined he deserved whatever penance there was to be paid.
He swore and tipped the contents of the glass over into the sink. Immediately regretting that piece of dumb-assery. He could’ve at least saved it for later. But apparently, he wasn’t thinking clearly tonight.
If he ever was. If he ever had.
He tightened his fingers over the rim of the glass, lifting it from the counter. He turned toward the cabinet then suddenly decided against putting it away. Because everything was stupid. And his entire life was a mess. So why even bother to keep the kitchen clean?
